


Through Love We'd Be

by acommontater



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Trans!Blaine, trans!kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acommontater/pseuds/acommontater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She aches, some days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Love We'd Be

**Author's Note:**

> Anything Blayne related is pretty much borrowed from Alo/foxykurt's headcanons that I just play with. Title from Stevie Wonder's Isn't She Lovely.
> 
> Tw for dysphoria.

She  _aches_ , some days.

It’s not often, but it lingers for days and days after.

She would wake up on these days and just  _know_.

(She always waits until Kurt has gone to work before giving in.)

She aches for the echo of hollow space in this body that has betrayed her in so many ways. Loathes the solid-muscle lack of even a barren womb. Curls on the sofa, clutching a pillow, and imagines how the soft curve of her stomach would look and feel when carrying a tiny life. How the wonder on her husband’s face would look when he felt the hard kicks and soft swell of skin.

(Cries when the fantasy runs out and she is jerked back into the present.)

She never tells him, but Kurt always seems to know.

(They fuck harshly on those nights- Kurt pressing her into the mattress and holding her almost too-tight. Bruising his love and longing into the fingerprints on her hips and the harsh-kissed stains left across the skin of the hollow of her throat and over her heaving chest. Leaves imprints of the loving words he murmurs into her skin and ears and heart. She cries, sometimes.)

Years after they are married, after they had discussed what they would do to build a family (they had always wanted a family together) when they are stable and have a home that could hold another, they visit the stark, stone, cold building that they had been only a few times before.

They had wanted the children to be  _theirs_  and had agreed that this would be the best way. Not the perfect way, or the way the both of them would have wanted in an ideal world, but what they could work with.

(They had gone back and forth about adopting, and as much as they had wanted to give a child a home, they were all to well-aware of how difficult it could be.)

So Blayne watches as her husband’s smooth stomach and hard muscles give way to soft curves and blunted edges as their child grows.

(She tries not to be jealous.)

She rests soft-skinned hands and a laser-smoothed cheek against the stretched skin of Kurt’s middle and feels the reality of their child. Sings to the baby in her buttery alto and lets her hands knead away the tense pains and aches that plague her husband’s body. Lets herself carry him as he carries their child.

(Leaves promises in every note and every touch that they will not be the parents that her mother and father were.)

The first time they hold their baby, months and months, an eternity, two seconds, later, they both cry.

(When Kurt sleeps, Blayne holds the newborn to her breast as she sits in the rocking chair and cannot bring herself to look away from the tiny life in her arms. Even wrinkled young-old and red-skinned with only the barest beginnings of fuzzy baby hair, this tiny person is the most beautiful thing that Blayne has ever seen.)

Their tiny, odd-knit family begins to fill in the ache and the hollowness. The rich, liquid-emotion of their love sealing up the cracks and crannies that she had tried to fill for so long and making her feel lighter than air.

She smiles at her tiny sleeping family and lets her eyes slide shut.


End file.
